Malleus
by A big bag of rock salt
Summary: Post DH. A quest to find the missing chapter of the Malleus Maleficarum that has the potential to destroy magic , brings the Potter crew back together for a treasure hunt around the world
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter belongs to neither Patton nor Margaret. If it did, we would be a hell of a lot richer and therefore not work together at a café.

**Other**: This is the creation of Patton and Margaret, writing together under the name of "A bag of Rock Salt". We throw ideas back and forth, write chapters together and separately, and so on and so forth.

**Pairings as of now**: HP/GW, RW/HG…. More to follow with a possibility for slash or femslash

**Malleus**

Harry Potter woke the morning after his twenty-first birthday feeling distinctly hung-over. The wretched concoction of Ogden's old fire-whiskey and yet another fight with Ginny left Harry completely obliterated and cursing the bright, hot August sunlight streaming happily through the window.

Harry's hand fumbled a long time for his wand laying somewhere in the vicinity of his bedside table. Finally his hand closed around something that was wand-like enough and gave a lazy flick towards the curtains. When nothing happened, he chanced certain blindness to discover he'd just attempted a fairly simple bit of magic with a toothbrush. A few whispered curse words later, the curtains were closed and Harry could safely review his current predicament. The first thing will be to get rid of the hangover. Simple enough, there might even be some of that potion he and Ron cooked up a few months ago for Ron's birthday. Next, and slightly more serious was the Ginny situation.

The fight was about something dumb, almost always was. The thing about fighting with Ginny Weasley was that you were never exactly sure what you were fighting about; let alone what started the fight in the first place. It always started as one thing and then, just when Harry was getting good and interested, it switched to something else entirely. This particular fight had something to do with why, four years after finishing his magical education, he'd not yet began his Auror training. Then, as Ginny often did, she brought the true meaning of the argument to light. Apparently, it was a source of great indignation that Harry had not asked Ginny to marry him yet. Not just to Ginny, but to Hermione and Mrs. Weasley as well. Harry dreaded the next time he'd have to see Hermione, knowing full well she was completely incapable of keeping her mouth shut. He wished he could avoid her entirely, but seeing as how she was dating Ron and that Ron was his best friend and roommate, he didn't see how this was possible.

Harry could hear Ron's grunting snores coming from the bedroom down the hall. He tried feebly to get out of bed, if for no other reason just to shut his door but lost heart halfway through and just decided to lie there and let his thoughts wander. Of course, as they always did, his thoughts wandered back to Ginny. He assumed she apparated back to the burrow to cry on Molly's shoulders and he allowed himself a small, evil grin as he thought of Ginny being so infuriated with him that she'd gone and splinched herself. He felt guilty immediately afterwards but also thought that nothing taught you a little humility better than leaving an ear or something behind and having to go back and retrieve it.

Harry's bladder finally won out over the headache and he was able to pull himself up, felt around for a t-shirt (his favorite black one with the new Weird Sisters logo), sniffed it to make sure it was ok for one more day and headed down the hall.

About this time Ron was on the verge of consciousness by an owl tapping maddeningly on his window. When he realized the dream he was having was about being a house-elf mining for diamonds for his master was blending with that incessant ticking noise coming from the real world outside the window, then all hope for drowsy comfort was lost. He grudgingly swam up from the thinning blackness of sleep to see Pig fluttering around hooting merrily.

Ron knew that the message was from Hermione. No doubt it was yet another rejection to one of Ron's myriad requests for a private, romantic dinner and quiet evening by the fire. They had been growing apart ever since she started interning at St. Mungo's. But no, now that Ron thought about it, that wasn't true. It started even before that. Ron had been in some denial about it until now but he'd come to realize that they'd been spending less and less time together since she decided inexplicably and to everyone's surprise, to move into the house at Spinner's End, Snape's old house. Ron couldn't imagine what she was playing at and whenever he brought up the subject she would just say that it was something she felt like she "had to do".

With a growing morbidity, he grabbed hold of the tiny owl to untie the note. He immediately recognized Hermione's handwriting and this confirmed Ron's suspicions. He tossed the note to the side and decided it was time to get dressed and grab some breakfast but then curiosity got the better of him. He picked up the letter again to read:

_Ron, I think you and Harry should come to London right away! Lavender Brown was admitted in the emergency ward last night crying and hysterical. The night staff couldn't make a lot of sense out of what she was saying but she apparently mentioned Neville several times… Please come to London when you get this. I know it'll take Pig awhile to get to you. I'll use the interim to see if I can't get more information from her now that she's calmed down. Love, H._

Ron read the letter through a couple of times. Each time, the word Neville stood out strikingly. Neville Longbottom had been missing for over a year. The first month or so, no one really noticed. It wasn't as if they saw each other every second of every day, although they did keep in fairly close contact with just about everyone from their year. Seamus and Dean thought it was simply coincidence. Neville walking out of the pub five minutes before they'd walked in, that sort of thing. After a month or so, word started spreading that no one had seen him. After six months it developed into a sort of general panic. Luna Lovegood, who had been the last person to see him, said that he'd been behaving very strangely but as Luna herself was at the best of times, odd, this was little help. Neville was probably closer to Luna than he was anyone else in the world and if she didn't know where he was…

Ron threw on some clothes without really bothering to see what he was wearing or if they were clean (chances were very good that they weren't). He hurried downstairs to the kitchen to find Harry with a bit of toast in one hand and clutching his head in the other.

" Why does toast have to be so loud?" Harry asked quietly.

" It usually isn't when it's just bread." Ron supplied, grinning. " We have to go to London today, now actually. I've just got a note from Hermione."

Harry heard the name and a fresh wave of nausea hit him. It was way too early for this. " Why do _we_ have to go to London? She's your girlfriend."

"_We _have to go to St. Mungo's to visit Lavender Brown. I think she might know where Neville's been."

"And why would Laven…"

"Harry, enough with the damn questions!" Ron shouted. " This is about Neville. He's our friend. He's been missing. Now pull yourself together."

Harry cringed, partly from the sudden increase in volume and partly from the chastisement itself. One characteristic Ron had inherited from his mother was the casual ability to make you feel like a dumb little schoolboy when his temper got flared. "Uncalled for." he whispered.

Ron started banging noisily around the kitchen. He took three or four little bottles over to the cauldron on the stove and within minutes, he was thrusting a cup of some foul-smelling, gray liquid in to Harry's hands. " Drink this and let's go."

It was a mark of their long friendship that Harry didn't protest even though he usually had enough good sense not to accept anything from Ron that he'd cooked up in a temper.

With the headache slightly dampened by the hangover potion and with Ron leading the way, Harry stepped outside ready to apparate.

"Let's go from the garden." Ron suggested.

The little garden had a nice view of Godric's Hollow but was still private enough to hide any magic from a passing muggle.

" Same spot then?" Ron asked.

"I think so"

"Sorry for yelling earlier," said Ron a little sheepishly, " feeling better?"

" No but we're out here now so let's get a move on."

And with a faint crack, they stepped into the crushing darkness and left Godric's Hollow behind.

**TBC**…

Chapter one was written by Patton.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two…

Within moments Harry and Ron were miles away in London, standing on the roof of a building that, to passing muggles, was Purge and Dowse ltd. A shabby, vacant department store with filthy windows displaying one haggard mannequin wearing a dress that, if the rules of fashion held true, wouldn't be in vogue again for another decade or so. To wizards however, they were standing on the rooftop of ST. MUNGO'S HOSPITAL FOR MAGICAL MALADIES AND INJURIES.

The reason they were standing on the roof of said hospital was by this time a widely told story involving Ron apparating into the lap of an unfortunate wizard with a wand shoved up his nose and a quite lovely bouquet of flowers growing where his hair should have been.

Harry quickly realized that apparating while in the midst of a hangover was unwise. It took him a few moments to figure out that he hadn't splinched himself and left his stomach scattered somewhere along the English countryside. Ron was already making his way towards the rusty fire escape leading to a thin back alley.

Because of the incident which came to be known as "THE FLOWERS AND THE FURY", Harry and Ron had tried apparating directly into this back alley on their next visit but unfortunately discovered that it was a fairly popular stop along a walking Jack the Ripper tour. The tour patrons, already a little shaky from all of the stories and police photos of grotesquely carved prostitutes, leapt and screamed bloody murder when Harry and Ron cracked loudly into existence directly behind them. After a brief second of surprised alarm, Ron had to grab hold of Harry's shoulder to keep from falling over in gales of laughter as the patrons scattered in all directions. Ever since, the rooftop had become a popular spot to appear from nowhere. Not just for Harry and Ron but for most of their graduating class as well.

As Harry turned to follow Ron down the fire escape he stumbled on something and twisted his ankle slightly. Cursing loudly, he looked down to see that he'd tripped on a shoe. For one reason or another, this roof was always littered with debris either from vagrants or wizards or even vagrant wizards. The boot was wet with mud and as Harry kicked it away from him, the mud splattered the front of his shirt. Harry cursed even louder, then, gingerly testing his weight on the ankle, ran to catch up with Ron who was already halfway down the ladder.

A few moments later they were walking around towards the front of the building and Ron caught sight of their reflection in one of the dirty windows. " Hang on a moment, Harry". Ron whipped out his wand and pointed it directly at Harry who immediately started to take a step back. "Scourgify" muttered Ron. All of a sudden, Harry's shirt was clean, pressed and tucked into his jeans. His hair was as tidy as it was going to get and his face was wiped clean of the trail of dried slobber running out his mouth. " Okay, now you do me." Ron said. Now presentable, they approached the mannequin, told the mannequin who they were and who they were visiting, and then walked straight through the window.

Before Harry and Ron could make their way to the admittance desk, Hermione intercepted them in a hasty, business like fashion. She was wearing very prim white robes with dark red pinstripes and exposing absolutely no skin below the jaw line. When Harry saw her in this costume, he didn't know whether to laugh or to take communion.

"Hello, Ron" she said briskly. She gave a rather unaffectionate peck on the cheek and turned away and in the brief moment as she turned to give him a disdainful nod, Harry could see a look of pained indignation on Ron's face. Harry could understand why Hermione would be upset with him. He had no doubts that Ginny had sent an owl to at least a few people as soon as she got back to the burrow. Why would she be upset with Ron though? That is, unless he'd completely misread Hermione's demeanor. As far as he knew, Ron and Herminoe weren't going through any real problems. There was the whole fiasco when Hermione decided she was going to open up the house at Spinner's End. It caused a little drama but that was almost a year ago. She'd just left her job at the Ministry working directly under Kingsley Shacklebolt to come intern at the hospital. No one knew why. No one really cared. It was just something Herminoe did. Harry made a mental note to inquire about all this later, knowing full well he'd forget to ask.

"Well," Hermione began, "I think we can go up now." She led them to the elevator that would take them to the fourth floor. Ron looked rather grim but Hermione didn't seem to notice. "I've been here most of the morning and Lavender has just been getting settled. I wanted to wait for you two before asking her anything important. Did you have a good birthday, Harry?" The question came too quickly. There was the remnants of the hangover, there was a distressed Ron and a seemingly bitter Hermione. Now, Hermione had changed track and was polite and airy. Harry could only stammer as they stepped onto the elevator. Once the doors had closed, Hermione took hold of Ron's hand and his face brightened.

"So you haven't heard from Ginny?" Harry asked, wondering if there was a reprimand coming.

"As a matter of fact, I did hear about a little tiff the two of you had last night." Hermione's face was completely unreadable. "I don't think it's anything you need to be concerned about. I think she feels like she maybe blew things a little out of proportion, but I wouldn't wait too long to patch things up if I were you." She gave a quick little smirk to Ron who was still smiling stupidly. "You know how these Weasleys hold a grudge."

Ron gave her a reproachful look that was almost convincing and started to lean in to give her a proper kiss when the door to the elevator opened.

"Here we are." Hermione said, very business like again. "Follow me."

The fourth floor of St. Mungo's dealt with spell damage. It was usually the least funny of all the wards of the hospital. There was always a chance of a wizard with his buttocks stuck in a cauldron or a witch who'd grown a magnificent pair of tusks overnight, but generally the ward was a fairly somber place to be. Hermione led them down the corridor and they came to the very last room. Hermione knocked softly a couple of times, then entered.

"Hello... Lavender?" Hermione whispered softly. " Ah good, you're awake. You've got visitors."

Hermione hadn't prepared Harry or Ron for what they would see when they first laid eyes on Lavender. She looked as though she'd been struck by a bolt of lightning. Her hair stood out in all directions, both eyes were blackened. She had several small cuts on her face and her arms were heavily bandaged as well as her chest. Ron let out an audible gasp. Harry was able to keep his stifled but just barely. Hermione busied herself with looking over a chart as Harry and Ron fetched a couple of chairs from the corners of the room. It wasn't until they were less than a foot away from her that she recognized Harry.

" Oh, hello Harry..." she said weakly. She turned her head in what looked like a great deal of pain and then her eyes flashed for a brief second. "...and Ronald." A sudden tension filled the room as there was a collective spark of recollection. Lavender appeared to be harboring some slight feelings of resentment for Ron after the nasty break up in their sixth year. It was clear that Ron had forgotten all about that and why not? It had been almost five years.

"What the bloody hell happened to you, Lavender?" Ron asked, ignoring Hermione's cold slap to the back of his head.

"Oh as if you cared, you... you...troll!" Lavender said hotly. She looked as if she were about to push herself up into a sitting position but Hermione rushed forward to gently push her back down.

" No, Lavender, relax. You know how he is. He didn't mean anything by it. Just calm down and tell us anything you can remember about what's happened to you and anything you can remember about Neville."

Lavender gawked at her for a moment. "Neville, what about him?"

Hermione looked at Harry and Ron who stared unhelpfully back at her. "Well...last night..." Hermione began as if unsure how to continue, "...the admitting witch said that you were in a right state and speaking gibberish and the only words she could make out was Neville."

Lavender gazed open-mouthed at Hermione. She seemed quite as surprised at the news as anyone else. "Buggered if i can remember." But then a look of dawning comprehension crossed her face. Harry could practically see the wheels spinning in her head. "I did see him. In France, in Orleans, he was there. I saw him while i was waiting for Pavarti Patil in a cafe. I met up with her and Padma in Paris. I wanted to stay and see the sights for another day or so and told them that i'd meet up with them in Orleans. By the time i'd got there, Pavarti had lost Padma. She'd gone to look in at a local inn and said she'd meet me at this little cafe. That's when i saw Neville. He was walking with a group of people all dressed in black. But not black like our school robes. Like...satin or silk, very shiny and pretty. I called after Neville several times and he must have heard me because he turned round and looked me dead in the face,like. I think...i think he shook his head at me... as if he were telling me "no" or something. They, Neville and these others, went into this shop or something down road. But then Parvati turned up and she was crying, like and it just drove Neville right out me head."

There were several seconds of stunned silence following this. It was a lot of information to take in all at once.

"Wait, wait, wait..." Herminoe began "...what's all this about Padma? When did she go missing? Did Pavarti ever find her?"

"Well i have no idea." Lavender said, a little irritatedly. "In fact, that's about the last thing i can remember before waking up here. I went out with Pavarti to try and look for her sister for awhile. It started to get dark and I said we needed to get back but she wouldn't hear it. She walked away from me and i started to go back to the inn." Lavender started to stare off into the distance again. Painful concentration etched on her face. "Funny, i don't even remember getting back to my room."

" Alright, Lavender," Hermione said. "Try and get some rest. You'll be well enough to leave soon i should think and then we can talk again."

" Bollocks..." Ron shouted, startling everyone. "What good does that do us,eh? We don't know any damn thing. Where was the inn you were staying at? Where's the shop you saw Neville walk into?"

This outburst was met with another slap to the back of his head from Hermione. She dragged him out of the chair by the arm and started shoving him towards the door while giving Harry a stern look saying that the interview was over and that he should be leaving too. They had almost cleared the room when Lavender spoke again.

"If it helps, the inn we were staying at was called L'Auberge de Rochplatte and it was on a street named..." Lavender screwed up her eyes again in concentration. "...Rue du Marechal Foch." And with that, Lavender sank a little deeper into her bed and closed her eyes.

"I can't believe you, Ronald" Hermione spat as she closed the door behind them. "Tormenting her like that, you could have scared her to death."

"Come on, Hermione! We came here for answers and now we've at least got a place to start. Can't you give her something? Y'know, something to sort of...jog her memory?

"No, i don't think so..." Hermione said, calming down now and conceding to Ron that he did, as Harry felt, have a good point. "We can't give her any potion much stronger than a headache cure right now. We don't even really know what's wrong with her yet. It would be dangerous to start experimenting just now. When i told her she'd get to leave soon, it wasn't exactly true. She's suffered a major shock. I'm afraid we're just going to have to wait until she can remember it on her own."

"And, if she can't?" Harry asked.

Hermione didn't say anything but started to march them down the hall towards the elevators. None of them spoke again until they were in the main lobby where she gave Ron another hasty peck on the cheek and said "Look, i've got other patients so i can't look in on Lavender all day but as soon as i know anything more i'll send you an owl. Just stay close and don't do anything rash." She said this with a pointed look at Ron that spoke volumes. "Why don't the two of you visit the burrow? You haven't seen your mother for ages, Ron. And you,Harry have some business to attend to while you're there as well, I think."

She turned and walked away without so much as a backwards glance. Ron and Harry stared after her for a few moments then started back towards the window.

"Well," Ron began resolutely, "the burrow, then?"

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment and then said, "I think it would be more prudent to stop at a pub first. We wouldn't want to show up without at least a small bottle of spirits for your mum, agreed?"

"Aye" Ron said, grinning from ear to ear. "And of course, if we have the time, we could perhaps treat ourselves to a round or two, agreed?"

Both laughing, they made their way back to the alley with absolutely no knowledge that they were being watched very closely from beneath the safety of an invisibility cloak.

TBC.

Sorry for the long wait folks! Margaret (being the slow procrastinating whore she is) has been out of the country and unable to post the update (or even help write it for that matter…). Kudos to Patton who did an amazing job on this chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Malleus**

Chapter three: History and Ezra

**London**

Let us now leave Harry and Ron to their own devices for the time being. The drinks will go down smoothly enough. The laughter will mingle with the salty taste of regret and agitation and concern for their friend, lost in the great wide world. The inebriation will be swift and without great consequence. They will arrive safely at the burrow as prepared for what lay before them, as they would be in an entirely sober state.

**Migration**

The migratory patterns of witches and wizards from the old world into the new follow interesting patterns. For example, the wizarding world was not keen on moving from their nice and hidden, as well as lawfully regulated, world within Europe when the new world was discovered. America was unknown. Could they still find ingredients for potions? Is there a wand maker in case I break my wand? How will my children be educated? All these uncertainties kept wizarding families from moving. That and the idea of a three month boat ride with muggles didn't seem appetizing at the time.

There weren't witches present at the Salem Witch trials, the idea is ridiculous. There wasn't a wizard population at the time; America was still too religiously divided. Wizards did not start colonizing America until after the American Revolution and the wizards that did 'cross the pond' were those who were generally dissatisfied with the British Ministry of Magic. A new Ministry was being founded in the United States and the idea of being part of something new and revolutionary was exciting.

Another contributing factor to the 'great migration', as noted historian Bathilda Bagshot calls it, was the prominence of Pure Blood culture in England. The idea of a 'pure blood' is virtually non-existent in America except in the French influenced deep south. Most of those who immigrated over were half bloods or 'new bloods', escaping the ridged society of England. There was the promise of making it big in the new world.

Magic was also present in early French colonization. New Orleans in particular was an early haven for French wizards wishing to escape old world persecution. There was a surge in immigration to New Orleans during the French revolution. The remaining pure bloods in America reside in New Orleans or in closed communities in New England.

Never the less, magic did exist in the new world before the immigration of European wizards, particularly within the Native American tribes, where magic was revered and those who could perform it held high rank. And it is with a Native American that we start this part of our story.

**Ezra**

Ezra Jones was an estranged member of the Navajo nation. Born on the reservation, he was quick to see the plight of his people. Poverty ran rampant on the reservations and Ezra knew that when he was old enough to forge his own way, he didn't want to be a part of it. He had managed a scholarship to college to study history, in particular Western European society, culture, and history. Offered a post at a small university in Spain, he spent three years of his life emerged in the culture he was trying to understand.

He had only a month left a research before he returned to the United States when he was called in to as a specialist to work on an old book discovered in an antique store. He was confused at first, as to what the Department of American studies wanted his help for, but was quickly informed that the book was dated from the first conquests and explorations of America and that part of the book was written in Athapaskan, the Navajo language. As the only person in the area who could speak Navajo, and being the only Navajo in the area, he was the only one qualified to translate.

The book was old, older than anything he had gotten his hands on. It was written mostly in Spanish, but the last few pages were solely in Navajo. It told of a curse, a curse that was given to the tribes when the Spanish explorers came. It spoke of a rash of skin-walker attacks and how the Spanish explores knew how to stop the attacks. In exchange for stopping the skin-walkers, the Navajos promised to keep a box hidden for the explorers and to never open it. They agreed, but soon discovered that whatever was in the box had the ability to stop their shamanic magic. Frightened, they hid the box in an ancient city that had no name

Ezra had search high and low for other books that made mention of this box; returning to the reservation to seek out anyone with knowledge. There were a few brief mentions of an old curse in a few texts, but nothing conclusive that didn't lead to dead ends. His search was quickly cut short from his lack of funding and lack of new leads to follow.

That was thirty years ago and he was no closer to finding what he was looking for now than he was then. He only had one word, a word that had to be bought from an old, poor, and drunk shaman on the reservation. It was embarrassing and had made Ezra feel like a monster, but he needed to find what he was looking for. He was at a stalemate now, not knowing where to proceed. All his leads had been followed and he was lost on the trail. Twenty years of being lost, until he had received a rather unexpected letter.

The letter, inconspicuous in its plain white envelope and typed out address, contained a request for a meeting. Someone, a Mr. Johnson, had found Ezra's name in connection with the book he had translated all those years ago in Spain. Mr. Johnson wrote that he had information for Ezra regarding his search for what was lost and what he hoped to seek.

Likewise, Ezra found himself currently seated in an outdoor café in Santa Fe awaiting the arrival of Mr. Johnson. It was August, and disgustingly hot in the New Mexican summer. His iced coffee didn't help too much, but the shade of giant tree next to the café helped alleviate the stifling heat.

He didn't have to wait too long, as a man dressed in a white button down and khaki's approached his table. Ezra studied the man, who looked only to be ten years or so younger than him. His hair was peppered with gray and he had a stoic look on his face. Ezra was a good people reader, and something about Mr. Johnson made him uncomfortable from the get go. Something about the stiffness of his shoulders as he walked and the way his hand felt like a stone when Ezra stood up to shake it.

"Let's get down to business." The man's voice was gruff and immediately put Ezra on the offensive. "I understand that you are searching for a box that was given to your people. I'm searching for something the box might contain."

"What is the importance of the box to you?" Ezra's voice was smoky, the Native American accent faint; he had never completely lost it.

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Mr. Johnson, I seek the box to learn how it affected my people. Do you seek for personal reasons or monetary gain?"

"It's personal," Ezra saw a flash of anger in the dark eyes of the man sitting across from him. "It's very personal." There was something that pained this man.

"I'm afraid I can't shed much light on your quest." Ezra said guardedly, noting how the edges of the man's mouth tightened. "I followed every clue until they died. You have read the book?"

"Yes, I read your original translation." Mr. Johnson nodded. "It took a lot of, persuasion, to get my hands on it. I haven't had any luck with any other of the tribes and finding anymore information."

"Then it looks like we're both at a standstill Mr. Johnson." There was silence at the table.

"This was a mistake." Mr. Johnson stood up from the table. "You obviously have nothing to tell me."

"Or so you believe."

"Goodbye Mr. Jones."

"Borgin."

"What?" Mr. Johnson stopped mid-step and turned back around to look at Ezra, who was staring at him piercingly. "What did you say?"

"Borgin, it's the only word I have." Ezra said. "It's the only lead that I could never find. I hope you have better luck than I do."

Mr. Johnson looked at him and slowly nodded and then quickly left. Ezra never saw him again.

**The way it was**

Let us now concentrate on a graveyard in Salem, Massachusetts. There is a man standing above a fresh grave. He's dressed as one might imagine one to be dressed for a funeral. He's in a somber, black suit and highly polished shoes. He is graying at the temples giving him the distinguished look most often used in the world of literature when describing someone with graying temples.

Upon closer inspection of this man however, several things stand out. His salt and pepper hair is unkempt. The knot in his tie is slack and hanging low around his neck and the black suit is worn and wrinkled as if it has been on this man's body for a few days. This man is alone. He missed the funeral by several hours, or days, or weeks. Exact time is unknown.

He is not crying. To say that this man is heartless or vindictive, to say that the tears can not come because he is in some sort of profound state of shock and that the tears will come when he is ready, all of these things are not entirely true. He feels his eyes watering and burning but he holds back the flood, gritting his teeth to the point of fracture. The truth is, he wants to cry very badly but the act of crying would make it absolute, make it real. The longer he could keep from crying, the longer he could hold on to the possibility of there being some sort of mistake, no matter how foolish that seemed. This man simply was not ready to accept the fact that his daughter was dead.

This was Mr. Johnson, whose real name is not Mr. Johnson. Mr. Johnson sold his house and car to fund his search for the box. This was Mr. Johnson before all of that. Mr. Johnson after his daughter died; the cause of his pain.

TBC…

We promise we'll get back to everyone else by next chapter!

Chapter three London and The Way it was written by Patton. Migration and Ezra were written by Margaret.


	4. Chapter 4

**Malleus**

**Chapter four**

The next few days swam by in a blur for Harry. His relationship with Ginny held itself together by a thin strand and there was a sort of unspoken understanding that although they loved each other very much, it was probably best that they didn't spend every waking moment together. Ron was riding an emotional roller coaster with long stretches of breathless anticipation and mindless glee when Hermione would grasp his hair roughly and pull his face towards hers. To Ron's great pleasure and to Harry's utter disgust, Hermione had taken to nibbling on Ron's earlobe when she was feeling, well, intimate. But when Hermione was in one of her "moods" Ron would plummet into crushing depression and anxiety as quickly as someone turning off a light switch.

There was no real change in Lavender's condition other than a general physical improvement. It was beginning to look like she would be dismissed from St. Mungo's with no more memory of how she ended up there than when she arrived. Although stubbornly dismissive of the idea at first, Lavender eventually warmed to Hermione's suggestion that she return to France, this time accompanied by Harry, perhaps even Ron, although that took even more persuasion. Hermione felt, or at least hoped, that it might spark something in Lavender's mind, some sort of clue. It was the only logical place to start.

If Lavender was difficult, Harry and Ron were being downright impossible. They couldn't understand why they had to go with Lavender and Hermione was unable to explain any better than the last twelve times she had already. They stood in Harry's kitchen feeling utterly frustrated with each other. Harry was the first to break the silence.

"I don't understand what to do when we get there. Do we just wait around until she snaps her fingers and goes 'Oh, now I remember'? Can't you see how ridiculous that sounds, Hermione? What if she never gets her memory back? We can't hope that we'll just be walking down the street and Neville will just pop his head around corner to say hello."

Hermione stared daggers at Harry for a moment before saying, "You've got more of a chance of finding Neville over there than sitting here on your ass avoiding your girlfriend." Hermione turned her carefully controlled ferocity to Ron, who seemed to shrink slightly. "And what's your problem with this little adventure, eh? Does it seem to complicated? Perhaps you've got a better idea, then. Well, by all means let's have it. What does the great and powerful Ron Weasley think should be the next course of action?"

Normally when Hermione laced into Ron, he cowered in embarrassment but it had never been that brutal before. Strangely, this seemed to empower Ron.

" I think my problem with this little adventure as you call it, is that it seems like the horcruxes all over again. Going off to "someplace" to look for "something", not knowing where to start, where to end, what to do when we get there or even what we're fucking looking for and what the bloody hell do we do with it once we find it! All Harry and I are saying, Hermione, is that we'd be a little more excited about this little adventure if it didn't seem like we weren't about to go on a fucking wild goose chase. Perhaps if we had a bit more to go on, other than the possibility that bitch gets her memory back, then Harry and I would already have been over there... darling!"

Ron's chair flew out from under him as he stood up and stormed outside, slamming the door behind him and leaving both Harry and Hermione with their mouths hanging wide open. There were outbursts and then there was this and from that point on something would be different between Hermione and Ron. Indignation, anger, regret, and anxiety swam over Hermione's face in an instant. Blotched with red fury one moment and pale with sickness the next. Harry had no idea what to do now. Should he console Ron or Hermione first? Did either of them need consoling? Was there pumpkin ale or fire-whiskey somewhere in the house? As the seconds stretched into minutes the silence grew more and more awkward. Harry turned to Hermione and opened his mouth, hoping that the right words would accidentally fall out but then Hermione raised her hand.

" Don't", she said softly, "Just don't. I'm sorry. I pushed the both of you too hard and I shouldn't be surprised that Ron decided to push back. You were going to say something like that I imagine. Well don't. I wish I hadn't but there's nothing I can do about it now."

Harry saw the tears well up at the corners of Hermione's eyes and without another moments thought said " Actually I was just going to ask if you wanted a drink. Might have some Ogden's somewhere if you're tempted?"

Hermione wiped her eyes and let out a sound that might have been a laugh or a sigh and stood up to make her way out the back door. "I wouldn't do that Hermione. Just let him be for awhile. Let him stew for a bit. That's what he wants."

"No, Harry, that's what he needs. What he wants is for me to come apologize to him and that's what I'm going to do, excuse me."

Of all the things to come out of Ron's mouth, horcruxes was the last thing Harry might have expected. Harry remembered the strain of the quest to recover those little pieces of Voldemort's soul. Harry and Ron never discussed those months upon months popping from one place to another, blindly counting on faith or luck or hope or whatever kept them going. Harry didn't even remember now. It was almost as if it had never happened. But now, now that Harry thought about it, Ron might have a point. Harry shuddered to think of months or years of putting together little clues here and there, hoping to achieve an unknown goal. At the end, so many friends lost. Now, another friend was lost, and this chilled Harry more than anything. It was time now... to find that bottle.

At roughly the same time that Ron's chair was skidding across the kitchen floor, Neville Longbottom apparated in to a quiet glade, startling a few deer that were grazing by a stream-bed. He had a horrible looking cut over his right eye and he was panting heavily from carrying the weight of an unconscious Padma Patil. He laid her gingerly on the bank of the stream and knelt down to dab water over his cut and then turned his attention to Padma. The only indication that she was alive at all was the barely perceptible rise and fall of her chest. Neville pulled off his t-shirt and tore it into strips, soaking a few and wrapping them tightly around Padma's head. She was going to have a huge knot just above her hairline but Neville acted quickly to avoid most of the blood-loss. The look on Neville's face was of fear and concern, not only for Padma's sake but for his own feeble knowledge of the healing arts. He washed off her face, brushed the hair out of eyes and took off her jacket to prop up her head. It was all he could do right now. Neville was never very good at spell damage. He also wished he'd paid a little more attention in potions for that matter. He did excel in herbology though and after catching his breath, began scouring the tree line for any of the varied plant life that might be useful. Neville had only ever apparated blindly once before, just to see if he could do it. To step into the void and the unknown and emerge unscathed, mostly, was an exhilaration that had outweighed the risk of turning up anywhere, on top or beneath or inside of anything or anyone. That time, he certainly had not been carrying an injured girl over his shoulder. Strange, Neville thought, that the last time he'd experimented with apparition like that, he was with Harry and Ron and that was the last time he'd seen either of them. Now, he stood at the edge of a forest, utterly lost and beaten. Neville had escaped an attack, immediate and unprovoked, and that he was able to not only get away but save the life of a friend should have been at least a small comfort, it wasn't. A vague sense of recognition dawned on Neville at that point, something he was unable to put his finger on. There was just something about the trees and the smell on the wind. He walked on a little further down the stream. Then, the copse of trees cleared and he made his way up a gently sloping hill. From this vantage, he could see, someway into the distance, the outskirts of a village and just a little further past that, what looked like a house, a battered, ram-shackled house and the pure ugliness of that house made Neville's heart leap. Once a place that filled Neville with dread, the site of the shrieking shack now filled him with a sense of hope that he hadn't felt in months.

TBC…

Chapter four was written by Patton, hope you enjoyed it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: We own nothing. Well, Patton owns a house now and Margaret has a car and a fish, but other than that, nothing! If we owned these characters we wouldn't be working where we are now and instead be tromping around the world looking for crumpled horn snorkacks (sp?)

**Chapter Five**

As the eighties heaved a last, dying gasp, so too did the marriage of Alexander and Sarah Parrish. Their bond, which was once so very strong, stretched and frayed until only the gossamer thread of a 4- year- old daughter held them together. To anyone, any outsider who might have observed the death of this union it might have been quite obvious that the problems all came down to trust.

Alexander could feel Sarah pulling away from him almost as soon as they came home from the hospital with their little bundle of joy. There didn't seem to be a moment that Sarah was not holding that baby in her arms.It took Alexander about a week to notice that Sarah wasn't sleeping. Whenever he asked the very reasonable request to hold his only child, Sarah would hand her over with a great reluctance, as though it were causing her physical pain to do so and she never left his side. Alexander's first thought was that she was afraid he would drop the baby but that wasn't it. It felt more profound than that.

It seemed more like…like she was afraid of…losing the connection with HER baby. A connection that went deeper than any mother and child in the history of mothers and children. Initially, Alexander wrote off this insanity as new motherhood but slowly, he came to feel like a ghost in his own house.

Harry was busy doing nothing at all and enjoying every second of it. He had the house all to himself for the first time in weeks and realized what a rare treat it was. Ron and Hermione were off somewhere making up in their own particular fashion and Harry found himself, guiltily, hoping that they might just stay gone for a few days.

A few hours passed. Harry had a pint, listened to some music as loud as he wanted, tidied up his room and even read a little from and old textbook he'd found lying around in a pile of junk. It stood out amongst the rubble because Harry could not remember ever keeping up with any of his old books, especially _History of Magic._

A couple of more hours passed and solitude began to take its toll. Harry would walk into a room and forget why he'd walked in as soon as he crossed the threshold.He opened and closed the fridge multiple times without removing or returning anything.He took a turn in the garden to clear his head and realized that he didn't want his head clear. He had another ale to relax. _Where were they? Had something happened to them? Was Ron just that good of a lover or were they now just talking, awkward and sweaty. Were they dead? Run off to get married?_

KNOCK…KNOCK!

Harry shot up and ran towards the door.This was bad news. Harry could feel it. Ron and Hermione were dead or Ginny has decided to marry Draco Malfoy or some other ridiculous thing. Because Ginny dumping him to run off with Draco was the last thing that crossed his mind before opening the door, the sight of her standing on the other side holding a week-ender bag filled him with a momentary dread.

"Hey, pumpkin" Ginny said as she stepped into the room to give him a kiss on the cheek. "I'm all packed".

"Packed?"

"For France, I thought we were going to France in the morning."

Harry was completely befuddled by all of this. He simply did not remember having a conversation with Ginny in which he had invited her to go to France with him. Had he explained the situation? Did he play up the voyage to be a fun holiday? Have there ever been other entire conversations with his girlfriend that had conveniently slipped his mind? "We? France? What?"

The smile on Ginny's face melted. "You've been drinking again, haven't you?" she said, as she put down her suitcase with a long sigh.

"NO! Well, yes, a bit. I still think I'd remember making plans with you to go to France."

Ginny laughed. "I'm in love with a mental case. Lavender made the plans." She said as if this was just a given. "She wanted another girl to come along and as Hermione will busy with her work…"

Harry felt a little bit better. He wouldn't have to swear off alcohol entirely now.

"Gotcha, but when did you see Lavender?"

"Earlier this afternoon. To be honest Harry, I'm surprised she's taking this trip at all. She looks bad. She was always a bit pale but I've never seen her that thin before."

Harry furrowed his brow into a look that might have been mistaken as concern but what was really going through his mind was a small beam of hope that he wouldn't have to take this trip after all. "Well, if Hermione thinks she's strong enough to travel, she must be, right?"

"Dunno" Ginny looked around the room as if noticing something for the first time.

"Where is my lovely brother?"

"Snogging Hermione, I expect." Harry said, his mind still fresh with ways of turning Lavender's illness to his advantage.

Ginny made a small retching sound but the look on her face softened and she came to sit on Harry's lap. "Speaking of snogging, it's been awhile."

"MMMM? Wha-?" was all Harry could get out of his mouth before Ginny shoved her tongue in there. And all other thought washed away in a torrent of saliva. After a moment or two, the unmistakable tightness in Harry's jeans told him that they would not have time to make it upstairs to the bedroom and the pressure from Ginny's thrusts told him that she was completely fine with that. Soon, the floor was littered with clothes and the kitchen table was taking a fair amount of punishment. Harry was close, almost there; Ginny's leg's wrapped around him so tight, he thought his back might break and then-

"MERLIN'S GREAT BIG HAIRY BALLSACK-GET OFF MY SISTER!"

It was difficult to tell what came first, the scream of shock, Ginny's cries of "RON, YOU BASTARD!" or the table finally collapsing.A lot of shouting and profanity ensued. It was difficult to get dressed again because Harry or Ginny would have to stop to pull a splinter out of their backside or, for Harry, someplace worse.After about an hour of this, normal tones of voice resumed and embarrassment seceded into amused silence. There was polite, if stilted, conversation for a while, then Ron slapped his forehead.

"Damn, I've forgotten why I came back…I can't believe this… We need to go to Hogwarts!"

"WHAT?" Harry and Ginny shouted together.

"That's what I popped back here to tell you before… the ugliness. Hermione got an owl from Minerva-bloody- McGonagall!Guess who's cozied up in a bed in the hospital wing. Padma bloody Patil."

Harry and Ginny looked at each other, the shock still stretching their mouths wide.

"Yeah," Ron continued, "but that's not the end of it. Guess who brought her there."

"Who?" Harry and Ginny asked together.

"Neville, yeah, Neville bloody Longbottom. _AND,_ not only that, that git's gone missing again.That twat practically dumped her on the front steps and bolted. Not so much as a hello, apparently. The letter said Pavarti's already there. No one can find Lavender." Ron said all of this very fast and it was taking Harry awhile to wrap his head around all of this new information. 

"So," Ron began, standing up quickly. "If you two are done being filthy degenerates, perhaps we bang on."

TBC…

This chapter was written in entirety by Patton as Margaret is a lazy bum who deserves to be punished. And hooray to Patton who bought his first house 


	6. Chapter 6

Once outside in the garden, it was decided that Ginny would pop in on a few places and see if she couldn't find Lavender

Once outside in the garden, it was decided that Ginny would pop in on a few places and see if she couldn't find Lavender. Harry and Ron would go on ahead to Hogsmeade and meet up with Hermione, Professor McGonagall and Pavarti. After a prolonged kiss, watched closely by Ron, Harry and Ginny finally broke apart and she walked away a few paces, turned on the spot and vanished. As he watched Ginny go,with the taste of her lips still so fresh on his own, the shred of fear lurking in the back of Harry's mind that this mystery could be in any way similar to their hunt for hallows and horcruxes was ebbing away. In less than an hour, it would all be tied up in a nice little bow with minimum drama or injury. But then again, Harry thought, when was anything ever wrapped up in a bow? Ron's declarations earlier that day in the kitchen still haunted Harry somehow.

Harry and Ron stepped into the void and emerged onto the main thoroughfare of Hogsmeade. It was well into the evening by this time so that the streets were more or less empty. In the brightness of the full moon, Harry could see a few wizards and witches locking up their establishments. There was Madam Puddifoot drawing the curtains on the teashop. Around the corner, Harry saw Aberforth putting his cat out and bringing his goat in for the night but he didn't stop to say hello.

Hermione came out of the Three Broomsticks as they approached and met them on the high street a few paces from the front door. She was not hurrying or fidgeting which was a good sign as it usually meant that there was nothing _currently_ troubling going on. She clasped Ron's hand and gave him a brief peck on the cheek.

"Finally! What took you so long? Professor McGonagall went on up to the school with Pavarti. She's going to give them some private time together and then send someone to fetch us. Hagrid is sitting at the bar Harry. Why don't you go in and say hello? I need a word with Ronald…" There was a very pregnant pause. "…Alone."

He looked from Ron to Hermione in an effort to gauge the severity of the situation. Only after Hermione sighed loudly and said," Oh honestly, Harry, it's okay. I just wanted a private word. That's all." Harry still wasn't sure but shrugged, turned slowly on his heels, still eyeing them cautiously and stepped inside the Three Broomsticks.

The bar was empty except for Hagrid and Mistress Pol, a young black-haired woman who took over the day-to-day operations of the Three Broomsticks after Madame Rosmerta retired. Harry sauntered up to Hagrid and slapped him hard across the back.

"How many have you had to drink, old man?" Harry said by way of a hello.

Hagrid's necked creaked as he shifted his great bulk on the tiny stool. With a little grin he said, " Why's tha'? Yer not thinkin' o' cuttin' me off, are ye?" He was red faced and swaying a little but he could still string two words together, for the most part, so Harry wasn't too concerned.

He sat down beside his good friend and, motioning for Mistress Pol, said, " No, I just wanted to know how many I needed to drink before I caught up to ya". He and Hagrid both laughed and drank and talked. As it transpired however, Harry wouldn't have the opportunity to catch up. Minerva McGonagall stepped inside just as Harry was finishing up a particularly filthy joke involving Dolores Umbridge and the handle of a Firebolt. Hagrid and Ron were doubling over with laughter while Hermione sat, arms crossed and looking red faced and furious. Minerva cleared her throat rather ominously, freezing the scene. All the noise in the world shut off at that point. As Harry turned to catch a glimpse of Ron and Hagrid, both horror-struck, he also saw that Hermione's expression had changed dramatically. It was now soft with an unmistakable smirk tattooed across her face. Suddenly, Harry was eleven years old again on his first day of school being told off by this woman for being tardy.

"Do go on, Mr. Potter." Minerva was saying. "I'm sure we're all breathless with anticipation to hear the conclusion to the thrilling tale of Dolores Umbridge and how a broomstick found its way into her bottom."

All eyes were on Harry now. His WEIRD SISTERS T-shirt was positively drenched with sweat but with the kind of courage that only ale could bring, he said, " Well, she's a dirty whore, you see and she ends up being able to fit the whole thing in. A-and…that's…about… it" he finished, weakly.

A thousand expressions crossed each face in the room as the seconds stretched out infinitely. The entire surface of the Earth exploding in pink fire would not have been half as shocking as what came next. She lowered her head, touching her chin to her chest so the wide brim of her hat completely obscured her barely suppressed grin. Just as quickly, the moment was over. McGonagall's head shot up and she spoke seriously enough although her voice cracked and the corners of her mouth gently tilted upward.

" Very well, if you will follow me, I think it is time to visit young miss Patil. Hagrid," Minerva continued, looking stern again, " perhaps you should find your bed and let mistress Polgara lock up for the evening, yes?"

"Wha'-" Hagrid said looking quite confused. " Oh, oh, yeah, righ' y' are, Professor McGonagall".

Harry, Ron and Hermione said their goodbyes to Hagrid and turned to follow Minerva up the winding road towards the castle. Hogwarts had not changed much since they'd last seen their old school. The damage it had suffered in the final battle of the war with Voldemort had been repaired but a few new decorative touches had been added. Possibly the most dramatic addition was a gigantic stone pillar easily thirty feet high, eerily lit from behind by the many windows of the castle. Harry had heard about the monument but this was the first time he had seen it. As they drew closer, he saw that the pillar was flanked by a couple of sleeping dragons. "_Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus", _Harry had not thought of the school motto in years, Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon. Closer still and they could now see that the monument was engraved with names. There, near the bottom, almost at Harry's eye level was the name FRED WEASLEY. Harry stopped and turned to look at Ron who had already noticed. He was walking forward to place a hand on his brothers name. It stayed there for a few seconds then Ron folded his arms and turned away from the others. Hermione gave him a moment or two to collect himself before going over to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. Minerva and Harry stood together not saying anything and in the silence he was sure that he could hear her eyes watering a little.

Harry stared up the length of the pillar and knew that it was a monument to all those that gave their lives to defend Hogwarts. He knew REMUS and NYMPHADORA LUPIN would be on there somewhere along with so many others. Ron and Hermione rejoined them soon enough and they entered through the massive front doors. Once in the main hall, Professor McGonagall turned on them abruptly and said, "Before we go to the hospital wing, I must have a few words with the three of you in my office. I am afraid that Mr. Longbottom has become involved in something that, I am sorry to say, might be just a tad beyond his abilities."

Harry shared a worried look with the others and followed McGonagall up to the Headmistress' office. Once they reached the stone gargoyle, which had definitely received an upgrade since Harry's last visit, Minerva waved her wand and the gargoyle leapt aside. Upon entering, Harry's eyes immediately searched out the portrait directly above the desk, expecting to see Dumbledore snoozing but instead only seeing a muddy backdrop surrounded by a gold frame. "Professor," Harry began. " Where's Professor Dumbledore? If you don't mind me asking." Harry had decided it would be best to keep his manners in play for the rest of the evening.

McGonagall was silent for a brief moment as though she were choosing her words carefully. "Professor Dumbledore is out for the evening." Harry wasn't sure if he caught the next word correctly but it sounded an awful lot like "Galavanting".

"Sit down, all of you." she commanded before Harry could pursue the matter further. She was suddenly very terse again. Harry, Ron and Hermione sat and waited as McGonagall rummaged briefly in a bottom drawer of her desk. "Ah," she began, " Here we are Mr. Potter."

She produced a plain wooden box and handed it off to Harry who sat looking awkwardly at it, obviously confused. "Well, open it Mr. Potter" Minerva said, impatiently. Harry lifted the lid apprehensively. Inside was nothing more than a single sheet of parchment folded over and horribly wrinkled. "Do be careful with that Mr. Potter. That piece of paper is over five-hundred years old."

Harry looked over at Hermione who was practically vibrating out of her skin with excited curiosity. He carefully smoothed out the parchment and tried to read only to discover that it was totally illegible. "I don't understand, Professor." Harry stammered slowly. "What am I supposed to be looking at? This is just scribbling."

Professor McGonagall smirked again and said, "No, Mr. Potter, it isn't. Actually it is written in German. That piece of parchment was written in roughly fourteen –eighty and I would have been greatly surprised had you been able to ascertain it contents from one glance."

Harry stared, perplexed at his old transfiguration teacher and then to Hermione, who'd stopped shivering and was gazing in open-mouthed horror at the sheet in Harry's hands. "Professor," she began, slowly, obviously troubled. " Is that… that isn't… that couldn't possi-… that's…"

" A small portion of the _original_ copy of the _Malleus Maleficarum_? Yes, I believe that it is."

Harry looked over at Ron, whom he expected to mirror his own confused glare but he instead seemed to reflect Hermione's look of shock and horror. He glanced back at Professor McGonagall, who was still staring resolutely back at him. " Imagine that I grew up in a muggle house," Harry began. "Surrounded by people who would rather tear out their own eyes than pretend to even know what the bloody mallis mallcarihoova is. Pretend that the hippogriff- scratchings of some demented fifteenth century _kraut_ might, in fact, have absolutely no relevance in my life at all. Pretend I'm that person and explain what you're all chuffed about."

Minerva looked thoughtful for a moment. "A brief history perhaps, yes, that might be best." She stood up and began pacing the room.

"As I've already said, The Malleus Malificarum was written in the late fourteen hundreds by two men, two dominican friars and inquisitors, Heinrich Kramer and Jacob Sprenger. Kramer was not a well respected man. He had tried for years to prosecute anyone whom he believed to have any dealings with witchcraft. The rest of the order, indeed the whole of the catholic church found his methods brutish bordering on cruel. He enlisted the help of Sprenger and the two wrote The Malleus Maleficarum or as it is otherwise known, The Witch's Hammer. It was a book to teach members of his order on how to find, prosecute and punish a woman who was believed to be in concert with the Devil." She paused briefly to make sure Harry was keeping up and that her words were having the desired effect. "Kramer and Sprenger were so conceited that they actually first published that book with a false claim that Pope Innocent the eighth had endorsed the accursed thing. The church banned the book a few years later but despite that, it became a runaway success. As it happens in any religion, hysteria took over for common sense. People began to see witch's where ever they looked. Witch's were blamed for nearly any tragedy that befell a village. The death of a child to the death of a crop, it must be witchcraft. The church saw a massive increase in it's followers in those few short years and could therefore no longer ignore the impact or the donations and so came to accept the book. That was the genesis of what eventually became one of the bloodiest times in the history of the world. Millions of women were burned, drowned, quartered, or hanged all because of the so called _Witch's Hammer."_

She paused again. Harry was more baffled now than ever before. Ron and Hermione were staring at him as though this explained it all and that Harry would finally understand the impact of this rumpled page in his hand. Harry was sorry to disappoint them. "That sounds...terrible, Professor, but i still don't understand what this has to do with Neville or any other thing." There was a collective feeling in the room of frustration and impatience that frankly, pissed Harry off. He was about ready to pack it in and go home when Minerva sat back down in her seat and said " What I have just told you is common knowledge, for the most part and therefore regarded as provable, historical fact." She leaned back into her seat and Harry did the same.

"What I have to tell you now must be and will always be chained to the realm of fantasy and lore. It is said that the original Malleus Maleficarum, a page of which you hold in your hands, was imbued with a powerful curse. For hundreds of years now, according to the legend, that book has been kept separated into seven parts because it is believed that if the book were ever whole again, it would mean the end of witch-kind forever."

Harry was about to speak but McGonagall cut across him. "Don't interrupt, Potter. I'm sure that you were getting ready to point out the glaring paradox of a book meant to find and destroy witches being imbued with a power that only could come from some form of dark magic. It is that paradox that has kept me from ever believing a word of this ridiculous notion. However, there are those that do believe that a witch impregnated that book with some piece of long since forgotten dark magic as an act of attrition. Some say she was forced... some say she did it of her own free will... some say that Kramer spared her life some say that this witch was hanged the next day."

"When you say _some_ professor, who..." Of the myriad questions Harry had swimming in his head, this was the first to form itself into words.

"I was just coming to that." Minerva replied a little hotly. " For several years now, well centuries actually, there has been an order, more like a "cult" in my opinion, dedicated to keeping the Malleus Malificarum hidden, split into seven parts, for anyone who would ever learn of this knowledge wishing to do any witch harm, they would be unstoppable. It is rumored that in his first rise to power, Voldemort himself meant to find it and destroy it or perhaps he meant to use it to destroy his kind and become the only wizard left standing. The latter seems more befitting his personality. If there is any truth to the rumor at all, no one will ever know how successful he was at finding so much as a scrap of what you are holding."

Comprehension was slowly dawning in Harry's head. The gravity of the situation etched itself onto his face and there were several long seconds of silence before he could form a question. " So, do you think Neville's part of this...cult or whatever?"

"As to his affiliations with the Order, I can not say. He has become involved with them in some capacity or other. I can not think of a way he would be able to obtain that parchment otherwise. Mister Longbottom, as well as Miss Patil are clearly in some sort of danger. All that Longbottom would say was that there was an attack and he was able to save young Padma's life a split second before apparating from the fray. He made no allusions as to his destination after leaving the grounds but my guess would be that he would be returning to the site of the attack, somewhere in France, I believe."

Harry shared a dark look of resolution with his friends. "Orleans," Harry began, watching his friends nod their agreement, "Has to be."

His previous hopes of a simple, happy conclusion were now fading and there was now little doubt that they were staring down a long path. Whether Neville had meant to or not, he had now involved Harry and Harry had no choice but to go down the path.

"Well," Minerva began, rising at last. "I think it is time to pay a visit to Miss Patil. Perhaps on the way we might even catch a glimpse of Professor Dumbledore enjoying a...night time stroll."


End file.
